From my dreams? My pregnancy-induced cravings that know no bounds whatsoever? You know.. I once wrote a poem about pregnancy cravings, and I’d like to take this opportunity to share the ode with you now. My only regret is that I’m limited in my presentation, preferring, of course, a dramatic spoken-word setting. They spring from nothingness Latent in the dark hollowsScratchingClawing Like an unchained beast afterYears of a chainTo ignore the presence would be to close your eyesIn the middle of a hail storm and claim youFeel nothingJust lift your arms out from your sides with palms turned up to the skies and say“What a beautiful autumn sunset”No, you relinquish control because the surrender is more satisfying than free falling backwards into a soft stuffed bed of goose downYou give in because hot damn mashed potatoes Ahh, yes. I remember this night well, salivating at the thought of mashed potatoes and brown gravy from a particular Southern kitchen we frequented when I was a kid. I hated it, or so I thought, but that night it was all I could do to keep myself from hunting down the proprietor, donning a ski mask and sporting a nonchalant machete, forcing them to make me a bowl for the love of all things holy. Such restraint have I! The mashed potato craving has passed (or so I thought.. merely talking about the object of my passion is reigniting the spark, and I might just have to hop in the car–thankfully we find ourselves in daylight hours for this craving–and speed all the way into Midtown for a bowl. I’m huge enough that I can feign labor, should I get pulled over.), but the feelings were similar when the idea of matcha marshmallows alighted on my mind. Fervor, passion, and hungry desperation (or is it desperate hunger?).. a trio of emotions usually reserved for the inside cover of a 50 Shades of Whatever-It-Is-Now hardback. So, it seems that’s where the matcha marshmallows came from. From the little man who lives in my belly and kicks his apartment walls so hard it makes my entire stomach shake, who high-fives my bladder (sometimes opting for a singular pinky jab straight to that particular organ) on the reg, and orders what we like to call “womb service” at all hours like it’s the St. Regis. The St. Regis in Orange Mound, because damn, he is really requesting some fried chicken right about now.
Prosaic justification of my cravings aside, these matcha marshmallows are damn good. They’re soft and tender and rich yet far from overwhelming, just like a perfect homemade marshmallow should be, but infused with an elegant earthiness that grounds the sweetness wonderfully. They’re insanely green and consequently full of mega antioxidants, which basically makes these health food. Oh, and gelatin, too! Gelatin.. also a health food. You should eat some ice cream, just to balance these out. They’re basically cardboard, they’re so good for you. Not…. that I’m implying that cardboard is good for you. But.. Hey! Look over here! Matcha marshmallows! Make them. And send me some. Or else I’ll show up at your house at midnight in a ski mask with a machete. Pretty sure you’ll know who it is, though; the swollen belly tends to give me away these days.
